[BRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

BY 

BROOKES   MORE 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  LOVER'S  ROSARY"  "SONGS  OF  A  RED  CROSS  NURSE" 

Illustrated  by 
TRACY  PORTER  RUDD 

With  an  Introduction  by 
WILLIAM  STANLEY  BRAITHWAITE 


THE  CORNHILL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

BOSTON,    U.  8.    A. 


Copyright,  1921 

by 
BROOKES  MORE 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED   BY   WRIGHT   *   POTTER   PRINTING   COMPANY 
AT  BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS,   IN  THE   UNITED  STATES   OF   AMERICA 


TO    KATHARINE  — 
PLEDGE   OF   MY   LIFE 


808024 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  —  "THE  MYSTIC  SEVEN" 

THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 1 

THE  CONVENT  LEGEND 9 

THE  VALLEY  MYSTERIOUS 17 

THE  LAST  OF  LOST  EDEN 21 

SINNERS  ALL — 27 

ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 35 

THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT.  49 


PHOTOGRAVURES 

PAGE 

TITLE  AND  AUTHOR'S  SIGNATURE    ....    COVER 

THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 5 

FOR  AS  THE  COLD  WINDS  GATHERED  FORM  .  .  12 
AND  ALL  THE  SAD  NUNS  GATHERED  ROUND  .  .  14 
YOU  WILL  SEE  A  GHOSTLY  FINGER  .  .  .  .  17 

LlLITH— 23 

ANOTHER  SPIRIT  FINDS  AN  AUDIENCE  .  .  .  .30 
FROM  LIGHT  ETERNAL  TO  THE  GLOOM  BELOW  .  41 
RETURN  WITH  HER  IN  THY  PROTECTING  ARMS  .  43 
ALAS  IT  WAS,  AS  i  BELIEVED 55 


INTRODUCTION 

"  THE  MYSTIC  SEVEN  " 

IN  the  explanatory  note  which  prefaces  the  final  poem 
in  this  book,  "The  Land  of  Light",  Mr.  More  makes 
the    statement    that    "Seventy    stanzas    are    in    the 
narrative",  but  his  thought,  impregnated  with  sym 
bols,  leaps  over  the  semicolon  to  add  "and  there  is  a  mystery 
of  perfection  contained  in  the  number  seventy,  it  being  ten 
times  the  perfect  seven". 

There  are  seven  narratives  in  this  book  of  Mr.  More's,  the 
"perfect  seven",  to  which  is  attached  an  element  of  that 
mystery,  interwoven  symbolically,  which  is  associated  with 
the  mystery  of  numbers.  The  numbers  signify,  because  the 
meaning  in  every  one  of  these  poems  has  an  exit  upon  thought 
that  is  only  reached  through  corridors  mirrored  with  a  subtle 
and  alluring  radiance  of  expression.  There  is  at  the  core  of 
it  all  a  philosophy  of  idealism.  I  mean  that  all  the  narratives 
together  make  a  kind  of  common  source  which  take  diverse 
directions  through  the  imagination,  like  branching  streams. 
I  might  put  it  another  way,  more  directly,  and  say  that  the 
poet  has  idealized  the  religious  mood,  rather  perhaps, 
idealized  religion  as  the  deepest  human  need,  and  made  it 
manifest  through  the  various  conceptions  of  it  among  man 
kind.  Now  to  do  this  in  poetry  that  makes  no  compromise 
with  pulpit  morals,  with  nothing  that  diminishes  the  sense 
of  the  proper  balance  between  the  imagination  and  its  sub- 

xi 


INTRODUCTION 


stance,  between  the  vision  and  its  symbol,  is  to  achieve  a 
kind  of  poetic  originality  that  is  distinctive.  These  poems  of 
Mr.  More's  have  this  distinction. 

From  what  I  think  contains  the  central  idea  of  these  poems, 
and  fine,  it  seems,  for  the  complete  blending  of  substance  and 
expression,  though  there  are  in  some  of  the  others  passages 
of  a  higher  quality  of  verbal  imagery  and  subtler  music  — 
from  "Sinners  All  —  "  I  quote  the  last  three  stanzas,  the 
first  of  which  closes  with  the  speech  of  Timour  Lenk: 

"The  Brahmin  priesthood  cursed  my  life  and  death; 

The  Roman  Pontiff  banned  me  to  unrest;  — 
Yet  here  I've  wandered  as  the  winter's  breath, 

No  sadder  than  the  saints  whom  they  have  blest." 

So  the  bad  ghost  of  Timour  Lenk  proclaimed 

The  weak  futility  of  church  and  saint; 
And  as  he  finished  many  more  exclaimed 

Strong  approbation  in  weird  accents  faint. 

And  all  the  while  this  offspring  of  the  tomb 

Thus  whispered,  they  were  'neath  Saint  Peter's  Dome, 

Where  Pope  and  Cardinals  in  that  sacred  room, 
Conferred  for  glory  and  success  of  Rome. 

Here,  I  think,  one  gets  the  key  of  the  conceptive  unity  in 
these  narratives.  In  this  poem  "Sinners  All  — ",  the  ghosts 
of  the  adherents  of  many  faiths,  from  the  Crusader  of  the 
Holy  Wars  to  the  Hindu  and  Mohammedan,  come  uneasily 
back  to  tell  the  world,  a  world  much  as  they  had  left  it  in 


INTRODUCTION 


aspiration  and  conflict  for  the  true  way,  of  their  faithful 
disciple-ship.  Now,  the  other  poems,  as  it  were,  grow  out  of 
this  fundamental  idea  as  distinct  and  separate  symbols  of 
different  creeds.  All,  however,  prefaced  by  the  opening 
poem  "The  Beggar's  Vision",  which  is  typified  as  humanity 
lifting  its  soul  from  the  trammels  of  impeding  earthly  ex 
perience,  towards  the  light  of  the  immortal  goal.  The  figure 
in  "The  Beggar's  Vision"  has  another  aspect  as  well.  That 
side  is  the  passive  acquiescence  to  the  external  laws  of  nature. 
Man  will  always  drift  toward  a  crisis;  it  is  the  crisis  that 
precipitates  his  character  of  conduct.  In  consequence,  re 
ligion  mixes  very  little  with  the  externals  of  human  life;  it 
is  nature  alone  that  re-acts  upon  them.  But  ever  just  beneath 
the  surface  of  human  consciousness  the  reflexes  of  remote 
religious  traditions  in  the  blood  are  eternally  on  protective 
guard  to  meet  and  combat  the  external  influences  accompany 
ing  every  crisis.  "The  Beggar's  Vision"  condenses  this 
immense  array  of  moods,  and  the  poet,  with  a  deft  imagina 
tion,  leaves  the  solution  open  .to  each  man's  care. 

With  "The  Beggar's  Vision"  in  mind  it  is  of  importance 
to  note,  in  grasping  the  absolute  unity  of  these  narratives 
to  mention  here,  the  last  poem  in  this  book,  "The  Land  of 
Light",  which  is  a  beautiful  allegory  of  the  search  and  finding 
of  Hope  and  Truth,  which  are  the  ultimate  attainments  of 
"The  Beggar's  Vision*'  perfected  through  the  moods  of  the 
intervening  poems. 

What  I  have  so  far  said  is  the  mere  clue  to  the  substance 
that  Mr.  More  weaves  into  the  details  of  the  poems  them 
selves.  In  these  details  the  matter  is  more  complicated 
when  you  stop  to  consider  the  elements  out  of  which  he 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 

makes  his  narratives.  The  narrative  of  "The  Convent 
Legend"  may  seem  on  acquaintance  but  a  mere  picture, 
richly  but  coolly  coloured,  with  its  tragic  interest;  but  there 
is  far  more  than  that,  for  the  glow  of  ecstasy,  unearthly  and 
divine,  of  a  Church's  doctrine  is  made  sensible  in  the  figure 
of  the  dying  nun,  and  the  attitude  of  the  convent  towards 
her  death.  So  in  "The  Last  of  Lost  Eden",  the  symbol  of 
perfection  made  at  the  beginning  still  exists  hidden  in  the 
world  where  man  will  one  day  find  it  through  the  perfection 
of  self,  the  soul.  In  "Orpheus  and  Eurydice",  the  poet 
turns  to  the  pagan  world  for  his  symbol  and  through  the 
sweet  memories  of  the  elegiac  myth,  saturates  the  very 
thought  and  experience  of  religion  with  its  most  vital  and 
dominant  force  —  Love. 

The  wearied  centuries  have  withered  away 

The  essence  of  his  youth  and  left  him  old  — 

He  seems  a  shadow  in  the  noon  of  day, 

A  wraith  of  pale  mist  when  the  moon  is  cold. 

Weary  of  heart  the  Golden  Age  he  mourns, 
In  winter  winds  attuned  to  minor  keys; 

And  when  the  gladdened  earth  warm  spring  adorns 
The  birds  rehearse  his  plaintive  melodies.  — 

And  who  is  he  whose  song  is  sad  and  sweet? 

And  who  is  he  that  sings  a  mournful  song? 
And  who  is  he  with  slow  but  viewless  feet, 

That  treads  the  swaying  asphodels  among? 


INTRODUCTION 


Isn't  Orpheus  the  very  type  of  perfection,  the  ideal  em 
bodiment  of  the  love  whose  substance  is  filled  with  spiritual 
elements?  Note  the  analogy  suggested  by  the  poet  in  his 
conception  of  Love  as  the  supreme  attainment  of  human 
striving.  The  sad  Orpheus  mourns  in  the  weariness  of  his 
heart,  overburdened  with  memories  of  his  lost  Eurydice,  for 
the  Golden  Age.  Now,  the  Founder  of  Christianity,  was 
also  a  "Man  of  Sorrows",  and  He,  too,  set  Love  as  the  per 
fection  to  be  attained  by  man  whereby  he  was  to  inherit  that 
Heaven  of  His  Father's  where  a  Golden  Age  existed  of  per 
petual  duration. 

One  sees  at  once  that  Mr.  More's  vision  in  the  poems 
bridges  religions  Christian  and  Pagan  across  which  Love 
travels  from  race  to  race,  from  era  to  era,  now  in  the  guise  of 
a  Virtue,  now  in  the  guise  of  a  Moral  Grace,  but  always  in 
the  same  body  and  substance,  and  eternally  with  the  same 
glowing  countenance. 

I  might  here  appropriately  quote  a  remark  dropped  by  the 
author  in  an  interview  which  reveals  the  serious  ideals  and 
high  purposes  of  these  poems.  The  statement  will  show  to 
the  reader  that  Mr.  More's  conception  of  the  poet's  function 
is  the  same  as  that  of  those  mighty  bards  of  old  who  were 
the  teachers  and  the  counsellors  of  mankind,  and  not  mere 
weavers  of  bizarre  and  decorative  fancies.  The  poet  is  the 
true  maker  of  high  imaginings,  of  the  mysteries  and  wonders 
of  life.  "In  this  cycle  of  seven  religio-psycho-philosophico- 
narrative  poems",  he  is  reported  to  have  said,  "may  be 
found  one  which  pleads  a  knowledge  of  Christian  Mythology, 
pertaining  to  the  Garden  of  Eden  —  which  was  promised, 
unchanged  and  preserved  in  all  its  pristine  beauty  to  the 

xv 


INTRODUCTION 


saved  issue  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  to  be  given  to  them  as 
the  inheritance  of  a  distant  millennium ;  and  some  inkling  of 
Chaldean  and  Arabian  Mythology  may  be  useful  when  read 
ing  'The  Land  of  Light'.  But  how  can  I  guarantee  the 
Grecian  Myth,  'Orpheus  and  Eurydice'  —  bedevilled  by  the 
serpent  in  the  Golden  Age,  may  foreshadow,  or  parallel,  the 
true  history  of  Adam  and  Eve  and  the  Serpent  in  the  Age 
of  Innocence?" 

The  "guarantee"  of  the  parallelism  of  the  symbolical 
unity  of  life,  love  and  religion,  one  may  find  in  the  narratives 
themselves.  They  will  be  discussed  for  their  thought  and 
substance,  and  equally  enjoyed  and  admired  for  a  rich  and 
varied  poetic  expression. 

WILLIAM  STANLEY  BRAITHWAITE. 


xvi 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

There  is  a  path  that  wanders  through  the  hills, 
In  spring  made  beautiful  with  babbling  rills 
That  follow  it  like  gold  beneath  the  sun, 
Or  turn  to  silver  when  the  day  is  done : 
But  in  the  winter  it  is  bleak  and  bare,  — 
The  coldest  winds  are  even  colder  there: 
Nursed  in  the  gorges  of  a  mountain  chain, 
Like  Furies  they  gather  the  sleet  and  rain; 
And  huge  clouds  hurtling  over  that  lone  path 
Destroy  its  loveliness  with  wreck  and  wrath  — 
God  sain  me  those  who  chance  to  pass  that  way, 
To  brave  such  storms  when  evening  turneth  gray! 

It  happened  on  a  night  of  storm  and  hail, 
And  rain  and  sleet  —  an  early  winter  gale, 
Bitter  and  blighting  after  autumn's  breath, 
Cutting  the  bones  with  edge  as  keen  as  death.  — 
No  cheerful  ray  could  pierce  the  gloomy  clouds; 
The  silent  stars  were  wrapped  in  silent  shrouds; 
And,  save  the  whirling  splash  of  hail  and  rain,  — 
And  save  the  sad  wind,  —  as  a  god  in  pain,  — 
A  silence  awful,  terrible  and  vast, 
Made  Nature  voiceless  in  the  wintry  blast :  — 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

The  cock  forgot  to  cheer  his  drooping  hens, 
The  owls  were  moping  in  their  leafy  dens, 
The  moonstruck  frog  forgot  to  gloat  and  sing, 
The  droning  beetle  shut  his  painted  wing, 
The  tuneful  insects  of  orchestral  night 
Had  hushed  their  bands  in  universal  fright.  — 
God  help  the  homeless,  pity  the  distressed, 
The  wretch  forlorn  who  hath  not  where  to  rest! 

In  that  lone  pathway  on  that  bitter  night, 
A  vagrant  plodded,  in  a  sorry  plight, 
Struggling  with  winds  and  splashing  through  the  mire, 
Seeking  to  ease  the  pangs  of  his  desire; 
Food,  warmth  and  shelter  from  the  sleet  and  rain: 
But  ever  as  he  went  he  sought  in  vain 
Through  devious  ways  that  wandered  without  end, 
Until  discouraged  he  refused  to  bend 
His  steps  to  right  or  left,  but  tried  to  go 
Straight  on  his  journey,  till  the  dawn  might  show 
A  gladder  prospect.    Meanwhile  through  the  dark 
He  saw  a  glimmer  or  a  fitful  spark 
That  flashed  a  welcome  o'er  the  watery  waste.  — 

\Yith  what  new  hope  the  wretch  begins  to  haste, 
Rejoicing  as  he  sees  that  cheerful  light  — 
Surely  the  signal  of  a  fireside  bright;  — 
But  when  he  tries  to  open  the  closed  gate 
A  mastiff  watchdog,  as  the  hinges  grate, 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 


Leaps  out  to  rend  the  thief  of  his  domain: 
Sadly  the  beggar  turns  to  brave  the  rain, 
Choosing  the  cold  wind  and  his  hunger  pangs 
As  sweeter  comforts  than  the  mastiff's  fangs !  — 
So  he  resumes  his  endless  weary  way, 
And  prays  the  dawn  to  herald  a  fair  day.  — 

What  weary  hours  the  famished  traveler  passed, 
And  how  he  deemed  each  hour  would  prove  his  last, 
What  bitter  musings  filled  his  fevered  brain, 
And  how  he  sighed  for  youth  and  hope  again; 
These  and  all  sad  things  we  could  wish  a-mort, 
And  wing  our  fancy  to  some  kingly  court, 
Where  wit  and  beauty  wreathe  congenial  smiles, 
And  the  soft  glance  the  slipping  hour  beguiles. 
But  life  is  sterner  than  a  man  would  frame 
Were  he  to  steal  his  own  Creator's  name: 
Though  youth  may  doubt  it,  there's  a  hard  word, 

"Fail"  — 

But  there  is  mercy  wrhere  the  cynics  rail.  — 
Ay,  there  is  beauty  in  disease  and  death 
If  ye  could  fathom  wrhat  old  Ocean  saith, 
Who  chases  old  age  with  his  wrinkling  tide 
And  carves  his  gems  where  multitudes  have  died; 
If  ye  could  listen  to  the  laboured  Earth, 
Whose  patient  thrift  saves  everything  of  wrorth; 
She  holds  the  dead  leaves  in  the  ugly  mire, 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

And  when  Spring  calls  they  rise  in  new  attire  — 

Violets,  roses,  lilies,  all  that's  gay, 

Are  deftly  fashioned  from  the  leaves'  decay. 

Now  when  our  tattered  vagrant,  almost  dead, 
Believed  the  last  word  of  his  life  was  said, 
Behold  the  rosy  Dawn,  herald  of  days, 
Tinted  the  sky  with  gold  and  crimson  rays; 
And  the  dun  clouds,  that  envy  joy  and  light, 
Sullenly  flitted  in  the  deeps  of  night; 
And  ere  the  sun-car  rolled  with  snorting  four 
From  flaming  stalls,  the  rain  had  ceased  to  pour. 
Fair  on  the  right  a  meadow  rose  to  view 
With  gentle  slope,  and  winter's  russet  hue 
Showed  where  the  sickled  hay  had  lately  grown; 
This  had  been  gathered  all  and  neatly  thrown 
In  shapely  ricks  to  weather  storm  and  gale. 

Forlorn  and  weary  while  his  weak  knees  fail, 
The  traveler  leaves  the  wet  and  muddy  way, 
Reaches  at  last  the  nearest  mound  of  hay, 
And  finds  warm  shelter  from  the  frosty  breeze.  — 
Soon,  in  the  languor  of  sweet  slumber's  ease, 
His  woes  are  melted  into  roseate  joys. 
Lulled  in  smooth  dreams  he  romps  writh  jolly  boys, 
Or  counteth  up  his  golden  argosies: 
Such  happy  visions  dance  before  his  eyes,  — 


r  //It,  f   • 


/•' 

f  j,i 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Joys  of  his  youth,  of  manhood,  of  old  age; 
For  even  if  old  he  deems  he  is  a  sage, 
And  motley  multitudes  to  his  address 
Gather  for  wisdom  in  a  mighty  press. 

Flattered  to  tears  in  alchemy  of  dreams, 
His  tears  of  joy  were  turned  to  sadder  streams. 
Yet  even  when  his  visions  had  been  turned 
To  things  more  real,  he  was  unconcerned; 
For  though  a  beggar  he,  and  rather  old, 
He  was  a  royal  tramp  and  loved  not  gold. 
Full  of  this  whim  he  turned  and  heaved  a  sigh, 
And  never  dreamed  'twas  time  for  him  to  die: 
Yet  so  'twas  written  in  the  scroll  of  fate: 
And  death  was  kind  —  he  died  in  royal  state  — 
There  he  smiled  grandly  in  bespattered  rags, 
Lord  of  all  beggars  —  so  the  sad  wrorld  wags. 

His  hour  of  death  had  scarcely  passed  away, 
Two  farmers  found  him  on  his  bed  of  hay; 
And  when  they  knew  the  homeless  wretch  was  dead, 
They  tenderly  raised  his  gray  and  rugged  head. 
They  searched  his  tattered  garments  hoping  there 
To  find  some  token  of  his  loving  care. 
Naught  could  they  find  of  pelf  or  hidden  gold, 
But  only  a  paper  wrapped  in  careful  fold; 
And  these  few  words  were  writ  in  letters  bold, 
In  smooth-made  letters  of  a  clerkly  hand :  — 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

"Kind  strangers  when  your  curious  eyes  have  scanned 
This  meager  testament  of  one  well  dead, 
Beseech  you,  know  his  solemn  will  is  said.  — 

"My  name  is  Nameless,  and  ye  need  not  know 
The  whence  I  came  from  and  the  where  I  go. 
I  give  my  all,  my  body,  to  the  Earth; 
She  is  my  mother  for  she  gave  me  birth: 
Out  of  her  loam  my  body  first  was  made, 
Into  her  dust  my  careworn  frame  will  fade. 
And,  as  I  think  of  it,  there's  no  regret; 
My  scattered  remnants  will  sweet  children  get. 
This  is  the  pledge  of  life,  it  never  dies; 
From  dead  corrupt  the  sweetest  flowers  arise. 
The  hour  will  come  when  the  atoms  of  this  clay 
Will  walk  new-fashioned  in  the  glorious  day. 
Though  long  my  footsteps  stumbled  in  the  mire, 
To  other  ways  my  life  will  yet  aspire." 


THE   CONVENT  LEGEND 


THE   CONVENT  LEGEND 

Sheltered  by  massive  cloister  walls, 
(Where  holy  men  abide) 
While  deeply  fell  December  snows 
On  the  steep  mountain  side, 
This  legend  of  a  convent  old 
We  read  one  Christmas  tide. — 

'Tis  Christmas  Eve,  and  all  is  still 
And  darker  it  is  growing — 
Far  from  the  north  on  icy  wing 
A  bitter  wind  is  blowing — 
A  colder  night  was  never  known, 
Cold,  bitter  cold,  and  snowing. 

Forth  from  her  cell  a  pale  nun  fares, 
From  cell  to  chapel  door, 
And  as  she  goes  through  drifting  snows, 
Her  beads  she  telleth  o'er; 
She  tells  her  beads  a  hundred  times — 
A  hundred  times  and  more. 

She  stands  before  the  chapel  door, 
So  faint  and  numb  with  cold, 
She  trembles  as  the  frosted  leaves, 
When  the  year  is  turning  old; 
But  there  she  waiteth  in  the  snow 
Until  her  beads  are  told. 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

She  tries  to  enter  —  "  Mary  save!  " 
The  chapel  door  is  fast, 
A  massive  door,  and  she  so  weak 
From  days  of  penance  past  — 
Ah,  surely  she  must  perish  there !  — 
But  now  the  wintry  blast, 

Blowing  so  cold  o'er  hill  and  wold, 
(A  bitter  Christmas  tide!) 
As  if  it  heard  the  holy  word, 
When  she  to  Mary  cried, 
Struck  on  the  door  with  sudden  strength 
And  pushed  it  open  wide. 

And  as  the  massive  door  gave  way, 
("Tis  told  by  good  monks  old) 
The  picture  of  a  blessed  saint 
Fell  on  the  pavement  cold; 
And  where  'twas  framed  a  window  flamed 
In  amethyst  and  gold. 

And  through  this  window  streamed  the  moon, 
Resplendent  as  a  queen, 
Together  with  a  glorious  star, 
The  flitting  clouds  between, 
And  lit  the  aisle  with  mingled  rays 
Of  gold  and  purple  sheen. 


10 


THE  CONVENT  LEGEND 

The  simple  chapel,  in  that  light, 
So  strange  and  holy  seemed 
That  when  the  pale  nun  paced  the  aisle 
She  surely  thought  she  dreamed: 
She  thought  a  band  of  angels  stood 
Where  the  golden  splendour  streamed. 

At  length  she  knelt  before  the  cross, 
(A  holy  place  to  kneel) 
And  as  she  gazed  in  silent  thought, 
And  prayed  for  sinners'  weal, 
A  vision  of  the  unseen  world, 
Blest  spirits,  seeming  real, 

Swept  in  a  maze  before  her  gaze, 
And  Jesus  Christ  was  there. 
And  while  she  knelt,  in  wonder  wrapt, 
The  vision,  strangely  fair, 
In  silence  passed;    but  at  the  last 
A  cold  mist  filled  the  air. 

Nor  did  it  seem  to  be  a  dream; 
She  heard  the  shrill  winds  blow; 
They,  as  they  blew,  around  her  drew 
From  wintry  fields  of  snow; 
Forming,  she  wist,  a  shape  of  mist, — 
Our  dreaded  mortal  foe. 


11 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

For  as  the  cold  winds  gathered  form 
That  shape  obscured  her  gaze, 
Till  even  the  altar  and  the  cross 
Were  vague  as  twilight  haze: 
And  all  so  cold  her  chilled  heart  told 
'Twas  he  who  ends  our  days.  — 


***** 
***** 

But  here  a  page,  yellow  with  age, 
So  many,  many  years, 
Was  faded  so  we  could  not  know 
The  story  of  her  fears; 
But  o'er  the  leaf  we  might  discern, 
Though  dimmed,  perchance  with  tears, 

That  Jesus,  Lord,  (she  loved  so  well, 
To  whom  she  ever  prayed) 
In  that  sad  hour  was  always  there, 
For  pity  of  the  maid: 
And  when  the  darkness  gathered  round 
He  said,  "Be  not  afraid." 

***** 

***** 
***** 
***** 


12 


•  s/fsrf  .t/tff/tc  f>f'.irtfWf/  /n>t~  frrtzr, 


THE  CONVENT  LEGEND 

'Twas  twelve  o'clock,  the  convent  bells 
For  Midnight  Mass  were  ringing, 
And  all  the  nuns  stood  in  the  hall 
A  Christmas  anthem  singing, 
And  back  and  forth  a  novice  turned, 
The  golden  censer  swinging. 

And  when  the  Abbess  raised  the  cross 
They  marched  out  side  by  side: 
Fair  soldiers  in  a  dream  they  seemed, 
So  softly  did  they  glide 
Across  the  yard  and  through  the  door 
That  still  was  open  wide. 

They  saw  the  golden  light  that  shone 
\Yhere  hung  the  saint  before, 
And  near  the  altar  lay  the  nun, 
Pale  as  the  marble  floor; 
So  pure  and  white,  a  holy  sight 
To  bless  and  wonder  o'er. 

Her  right  hand  crossed  above  the  left, 
A  crucifix  did  hold; 
Around  her  brows  a  halo  wreathed 
A  crown  of  living  gold; — 
(Which  some  have  thought 

the  moonlight  wrought, — 
The  nuns  have  never  told). 


13 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

And  all  the  sad  nuns  gathered  round 
The  form  they  loved  so  well, 
"While  mournful  strains  from  unseen  choirs 
Softly  rose  and  fell; 
The  saddest  dirge  that  e'er  was  sung 
To  bid  a  soul  farewell. 

The  grieving  Abbess  sadly  said, 
"  Our  sister  Beatrice 
Stands  in  the  presence  of  her  Lord, 
Where  tears  and  sorrow  cease; 
And  let  us  pray,  this  Christmas  day, 
To  Him  who  giveth  peace." 


14 


/r  /fte  Jfrst 
r)e  fvrttt   /ft 


e  w 


,*? 

t  ft/    offrt  <i<>  tr 
' 


et  r 


THE  VALLEY  MYSTERIOUS 

In  a  valley  called  Mysterious, 

There  two  winding  rivers  flow: 
One  with  current,  dark  and  serious, 

Moves  methodically  slow; 
But  the  other  flashing  brightly, 

Seems  to  run, 
Leaping  lightly  laughing  sprightly, 

To  the  sun. 

In  the  morning  when  the  glowing 

Sun  awakes  the  radiant  sky, 
You  can  see  that  river  flowing, 

Swiftly  by.  — 
If  you  wander  or  you  linger 

On  its  margin  —  anywhere  — 
You  will  see  a  ghostly  finger 

Moving  upward  through  the  air. 

And  that  river  from  the  valley, 

From  your  feet  where  you  may  stand, 
Will  appear  to  leap  and  sally 

From  the  land; 
Will  appear  to  rise  to  heaven, 

To  the  sun  that  brings  the  day, 
As  a  ghostly  power  is  given 

By  the  hand  that  points  the  way. 


17 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

As  it  leaps  and  whirls  and  dashes 

Through  the  valley  to  your  feet, 
Fragrant  odours  where  it  splashes,  — 

Swooning  sweet,  — 
Float  with  sounds  that  musically 

Quiver  —  shiver  —  everywhere;  — 
But  above  the  lovely  valley, 

Where  the  river  floats  in  air 

From  the  spot  your  feet  may  stand  on, 

Whence  it  rises  to  the  sun, 
Every  sense  of  earth  abandon  — 

Every  one;  — 
For  the  sweetest  and  the  rarest 

Things  of  earth, 
And  the  dearest  and  the  fairest 

Seem  to  be  of  little  worth. 


But  the  river  dark  and  serious, 

Oh  beware! 
In  that  valley,  called  Mysterious,  — 

Falsely  fair,  — 
It  is  winding  smooth  and  slowly 

To  the  west, 
Where  the  sun  has  settled  lowly  — 

Into  rest. 


18 


THE  LAST  OF  LOST  EDEN 


THE  LAST  OF  LOST  EDEN 

It  is  recorded  in  the  Talmud,  that  Adam  had  a 
wife  before  Eve,  whose  name  wTas  Lilis  —  or  Lilith. 
She  refused  to  submit  to  Adam,  and,  being  supplanted 
by  Eve,  became  a  spectre. 

And  there  is  a  tradition,  that  when  Jehovah 
forbade  Adam  and  Eve  the  Garden  of  Eden,  He  told 
them  it  should  be  unknown  and  lost  to  man  through 
many  ages,  until  The  Millennium,  and  then  returned 
to  their  race  unchanged.  Immediately,  after  their 
sad  departure,  it  was  hidden  south  of  the  Kaspian  Sea, 
in  the  mysterious  Mountains  of  Kaf,  where  neither 
Death  may  change  its  beauty  nor  Life  nor  Motion, 
until  the  day  of  its  return  to  their  redeemed  children. 

And  in  this  hidden  garden,  this  mysterious  Para 
dise,  Lilith  must  abide,  where  all  is  life,  yet  silent, 
immovable,  unchangeable  as  death;  and  she  must 
guard  and  watch  that  no  motion  nor  growth,  nor 
decay,  may  mar  its  beauty  or  change  it,  until  re 
turned  to  the  children  of  Adam  —  exactly  as  he  left 
it  wrhen  he  fled  from  the  anger  of  Jehovah. 

1 

Oh,  what  is  the  reason  God  willeth 
That  nothing  shall  ever  dissever 
The  last  of  lost  Eden  from  Lilith  — 

Lost  Eden  surrounded, 

Secreted  and  bounded 
By  river  and  mountain  and  sea? 


21 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 


2 

A  secret,  unspeakable  terror 

Broods  over  that  beautiful  glen; 

Long  hidden  and  silent,  —  but  fairer 
Than  garlands  in  gardens  of  men.  — 
Oh  never,  oh  never  again, 
The  billing  of  doves  in  the  trees !  — 

The  thrilling  of  birds  in  the  thickets, 

The  shrilling  of  summer-glad  crickets, 
The  humming  of  diligent  bees ! 


The  lily-sweet  atmosphere  —  haunting  — 
Where  motion  is  none  to  be  seen! 

The  blossomy  branches  enchaunting, 
That  ever  loll  over  the  green, 

Bedabbled  in  water  where  ripples 
Unmoving  for  ages  have  been !  — 

And  petals  the  sun  never  stipples, 
Redoubled  in  velvety  sheen 

Of  glassy  deep  pools,  where  the  pale  dawn 

Has  lingered  since  long  the  sun  failed  on 
His  journey  through  violet  skies;  — 
Through  skies  of  the  lost  Paradise;  — 
AYhere  never  again  the  moon  dips 

Away  from  the  shadow-sea,  sailed  on, 
Down,  down  as  the  dark  night  slips! 


22 


•*       •/    Yaks* 


THE  LAST  OF  LOST  EDEN 

Where  winter  winds  never  have  wailed  on 
Their  chilling  wings  willing  for  killing !  — 
Where  blossoms  the  cold  never  strips, 
Refreshed  in  the  dew  that  not  drips, 
On  leaning  light  stems  are  not  paled  on 
The  water  no  thirsty  bird  sips. 


What  is  it  —  a  sin,  a  sad  error 
That  lurks  as  a  spirit  of  evil, 
That  haunts  as  a  feeling  of  terror, 
In  silent,  hushed  vistas,  primeval, 

Untouched  by  the  folly  of  man?  — 

What  is  it,  a  curse,  a  witch-ban  — 
A  sinuous  monster  in  there  pent, 

Pervading  the  sinister  air  — 
The  breath  of  a  dragon,  a  serpent, 

That  fetters  the  life  that  is  there? 


Oh,  call  her  not,  name  her  not  human,  - 

Supreme  where  the  motionless  lives ! 
Alone,  the  frail  shape  of  a  woman 

That  mystical,  silent  land  gives 
A  shadow  of  human  dominion !  — 

For  never  a  beast  in  a  den, 

Nor  even  a  newt  in  a  fen; 


23 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

For  never  a  spirit  nor  pinion, 

Nor  leaf  from  the  motionless  trees 

Can  quiver  or  shiver  the  river, 

Can  wake  up  or  shake  up  the  breeze ! 

6 
The  shadowy  shadow  of  Lilith, 

That  lonely  lost  creature  must  be, 
In  the  last  of  lost  Eden,  God  willeth, 

Surrounded  by  mountain  and  sea;  — 
Shut  in  from  the  wailing  and  sorrow, 
That  surges  around  her  forever !  — 
\Vhere  never  a  mortal  can  sever 
The  last  of  the  past  from  the  morrow. 

7 

Oh,  that  is  the  reason,  God  willeth, 
That  nothing  shall  ever  dissever 
The  last  of  lost  Eden  from  Lilith  — 
Lost  Eden  —     —  surrounded,  and  bounded 
By  river  and  mountain  and  sea. 


24 


SINNERS  ALL  — 


SINNERS  ALL  — 

"Safe  in  the  blessing  of  the  Pope  I  went 

With  God's  crusaders  to  the  Holy  Wars; 
But  there  a  javelin  from  a  battlement 

Transfixed  my  heart,  and  I  was  left  a  corse. 

"As  silent  as  the  light  from  the  dead  moon 

A  shapeless  ghost  I  left  my  worthless  clay, 
And  ever  since  have  wandered,  night  and  noon, 
Tossed  by  the  winds  as  clouds  are  blown  away. 

"They  swore  by  blood  of  Jesus,  all  the  slain 
Should  join  the  saints  in  joys  of  Paradise; 

Their  solemn  vows  were  sworn  and  given  in  vain, 
For  only  as  a  ghost  I  breathe  in  sighs." — 

Sadly  the  ghost  of  that  crusader  old 

Made  his  lament,  while  all  his  spectral  friends 

Sighed  in  the  wind,  —  so  in  the  winter  cold 

Laments  the  night  while  chill  the  moon  ascends. 

When  all  was  still,  another  ghost  began 

To  whisper  slowly  with  an  accent  weird;  — 

He  told  his  version  of  the  faith  of  man 

Whose  temples  in  his  idle  dreams  are  reared. 


27 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

'When  the  hot  sun  uprose  in  tropic  wrath, 
I  traveled  from  a  land  of  desert  heat 

To  Mecca's  blistered  plains;  along  the  path 
So  often  trod  by  holy  pilgrims'  feet. 

'Merciful  Allah!  in  thy  name  I  prayed, 

And  every  day  the  Caaba-stone  I  kissed; 

All  the  Koran  to  me  a  dervish  read, 

Expounding  every  meaning  that  he  wist. 

'I  gave  large  treasure  to  the  sanctified, 

Who  cried  my  bounty  on  the  public  road ;  — 

They  promised  me  rich  blessings  when  I  died, 
In  gardens  of  felicitous  abode. 

'  Within  the  sacred  Caaba  Square,  at  last 

My  life  was  stricken  by  the  deadly  plague; 

And  there  I  died  with  eyes  to  Allah  cast, 

Assured  of  joys  that  now  seem  dark  and  vague. 

'How  many  sapless  years  have  rustled  by 

As  leaves  that  flutter  on  December's  breeze, 
Since  I,  —  poor  ghost  —  have  wandered  aimlessly, 
From  Mecca's  grave  to  shores  of  distant  seas." 

His  tale  is  told,  and  now  another  saint 
Begins  to  tell  his  woe  —  as  when  afar 

Is  heard  the  owl's  last  melancholy  plaint, 

Against  the  dawn  that  dims  the  dipping  star. 


28 


SINNERS  ALL  — 

'  With  children  in  their  arms  the  faithful  came,  — 
A  multitude,  —  to  ask  of  me  the  path 

That  leads  to  holiness;  —  they  said  my  name 
Exorcised  evil,  and  from  Siva's  wrath : 

'For  all  things  I  had  suffered,  and  was  free 

To  holy  meditation  in  the  state 
Of  self-denial;  —  and  it  seemed  to  me 

That  Time  stood  still  and  Death  had  lost  his  date. 

'  But  Age  with  bony  finger  touched  my  brow, 
And  all  my  followers,  as  the  end  drew  near, 

Went  with  me  down  the  Ganges,  from  Lucknow 
To  far  Benares'  gates. 'O  city  dear, 

'  '  O  Siva's  heart : '   so  all  began  to  chaunt,  — 
'  O  blest  Benares,  happy  are  thy  dead ! ' 

And  as  they  sang  they  bathed  me  in  that  fount, 
And  purified  me :  and  from  thence  they  led 

'Me  joyous  —  or  they  bore  me  —  all  the  way 
In  triumph  —  to  the  Golden  Temple's  Gate; 

Where  deep  in  meditation  I  could  pray 

For  joys  threefold  that  Brahma's  love  await. 

'From  thence  to  Doorgha  Kond, —  by  Christians  called 
The  Temple  of  Devoted  Monkeys ;  —  these, 

Most  happy  in  that  pious  precinct  walled, 
Attend  our  God  in  sacred  mysteries. 


29 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

"And  we  had  scarcely  entered  when  I  fell, 

Outworn  with  palsied  age,  on  the  hard  floor; 
And  as  I  prayed  I  heard  an  inward  knell 

That  warns  the  heart  its  tide  of  life  is  o'er. 

"They  said  my  soul  descended  far  in  space, 

\Vhere  Surya  reigns  in  broad  effulgent  gold; 

They  said  I  mingled  with  eternal  grace, 

In  the  pure  essence  of  our  God,  threefold. 

"But  while  they  chaunted  thus  my  mortal  urn 

Down  the  wide  Ganges'  wave  was  washed  away; 
And  only  as  a  ghost  can  I  return 

To  that  weird  temple  where  the  monkeys  play." 

In  murmurs  like  the  sound  of  dying  winds, 
The  Brahmin's  tale  is  told;  and  as  the  sound 

Dies  in  the  night,  another  spirit  finds 

An  audience  of  the  ghosts  encircled  round :  — 

"Called  Timour  Lenk,  because  my  foot  was  lame, 

My  quest  for  blood  and  pillage  never  tired : 
Behold  that  chief  of  Samarcand,  whose  name 
The  kings  of  all  the  world  with  fear  inspired ! 

"How  many  thousand  victims  I  impaled; 

How  many  slaughtered  with  my  scimitars; 
How  many  widows  their  lost  lords  bewailed; 
How  many  mothers  cursed  my  dreadful  wars ! 


30 


*.tJffr</Jfit 


»-•/>-/  sr«tf«>'>tri>   f-r/tf    fr/tmfa  stiff  rc/frf  fctfttrr:- 


SINNERS  ALL  — 

"Carnage  and  rapine  were  my  greatest  pleasures; 

Blood  was  more  welcome  to  my  sight  than  gold; 
The  hour  I  looted  Delhi  of  its  treasures 

In  throes  of  death  a  hundred  thousand  rolled. 

"The  Brahmin  priesthood  cursed  my  life  and  death; 

The  Roman  Pontiff  banned  me  to  unrest;  — 
Yet  here  I've  wandered  as  the  winter's  breath, 

No  sadder  than  the  saints  whom  they  have  blest." 

So  the  bad  ghost  of  Timour  Lenk  proclaimed 
The  weak  futility  of  church  and  saint; 

And  as  he  finished  many  more  exclaimed 
Strong  approbation  in  weird  accents  faint. 

And  all  the  while  this  offspring  of  the  tomb 

Thus  whispered,  they  were  'neath  Saint  Peter's 
Dome, 

Where  Pope  and  Cardinals  in  that  sacred  room, 
Conferred  for  glory  and  success  of  Rome. 


31 


ORPHEUS  AND   EURYDICE 


ORPHEUS  AND   EURYDICE 

AN  ELEGY. 

Eurydice,  the  daughter  of  Nereus,  was  the  beloved 
and  virtuous  wife  of  Orpheus,  the  melodious  God  of 
Music;  but  at  the  termination  of  the  Golden  Age,  sin 
wrought  for  evil,  and  Eurydice,.  while  flying  from  the 
wicked  Aristaeus  was  bitten  on  the  heel  by  a  serpent 
and  died  from  the  venom.  Orpheus  descended  to  the 
Regions  of  Death  and  besought  Pluto  for  her  return 
to  life.  His  prayer  was  granted  under  condition  he 
should  not  look  back  while  bearing  her  from  the  abode 
of  gloom.  For  love  of  her  he  turned  to  gaze  upon  her 
beautiful  countenance,  and  she  vanished;  and  he  hath 
ever  since  wandered  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Dreaming  upon  a  bed  of  fragrant  flowers, 
Reclined  a  maiden  in  the  pleasant  noon, 

As  if  to  pass  away  the  drowsy  hours 

In  thoughtless  memories  and  wakeful  swoon. 

Afar  she  heard  the  sound  of  tinkling  rills, 
The  ever-singing  birds,  that  must  rejoice 

In  life,  and  far  away  among  the  hills 

The  faintest  echoes  of  an  unknown  voice. 


35 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

She  listened  to  the  softly  swelling  strains 
Of  liquid  notes  that  ever  nearer  drew; 

Delightful  rhapsodies  that  o'er  the  plains 

Were  wafted  by  each  friendly  breeze  that  blew. 

But  still  she  lay  upon  her  lovely  bed, 

While  her  bright  fancies  as  the  fays  and  elves, 

Built  palaces  of  moonstone,  diamonded, 

Gleaming  as  caves  the  astonished  miner  delves. 

And  ever  as  she  dreamed  those  phantasies, 

She  strained  to  catch  the  accent  of  each  word, 

Wafted  in  song  upon  the  gentle  breeze, 

Which,  faintly  first,  at  length  she  plainly  heard : 

"Fair  blow  the  lilies, 

in  a  bending  spray, 
Sprinkling  musk  dew-drops 

on  the  honied  bee;  — 
Sweeter  my  dear  love, 

oh,  sweeter  than  they, 
Love  in  thy  fond  eyes, 

dear  Eurydice." 

Vanished  the  dream,  the  song  has  ceased;  and  now 
A  sigh  escapes  her  rich  half -parted  lips; 

And  sorrow  almost  marks  her  smooth  white  brow 
As  from  her  mind  the  cherished  vision  slips. 


36 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 

The  song  is  hushed;  her  faery  dream  is  gone; 

She  turns  and  opens  her  dream-startled  eyes;  — 
And  Orpheus,  King  of  Music,  all  alone, 

Leans  o'er  her  as  his  song  in  murmur  dies. 

As  dew  in  lily  chalice,  into  her  dream 

He  melts.    And  ah !  what  hopes  and  vows  have  they 
Mid  sighs  to  tell;  while  far  the  red  sun's  beam 

Glints  the  deep  sky  with  slant  and  gilded  ray. 

Delightful  moments !  happy  hours !  ah  fold 
Thy  tireless  pinions  lone  and  loveless  Time! 

Let  not  the  twilight  of  this  day  grow  old, 

This  day  when  love  makes  bright  the  world's  fair 
prime. 

The  day  is  gone  and  night  succeedeth  night, 
And  they  are  all  unconscious  of  the  hours; 

So  happy  their  felicitous  delight, 

So  sweet  to  pluck  love's  constant  springing  flowers. 

And  ah,  to  roam  together  that  fair  land, 

While  Orpheus  breathes  on  his  unequal  reeds, 

Or  chaunts  a  rondo  by  some  moon-lit  strand, 

Love-taught,  heart-sweet,  and  that  his  dear  love 
needs. 


37 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Thus  when  the  virgin  earth  was  beautiful, 
These  lovers  in  that  world  of  Paradise, 

That  region  lovelier  than  the  Land  of  Gul, 
So  fondly  loved  beneath  the  starry  skies. 

'Twas  in  the  Golden  Age,  and  all  the  earth 

AYas  joyous,  —  beautiful  with  hope  and  truth; 

The  verdant  valleys  knew  nor  flood  nor  dearth, 
And  Time,  that  now  is  old,  was  in  his  youth. 

The  earth  was  radiant  in  that  glorious  prime; 

The  moon,  the  stars  shone  brighter  in  the  stream: 
The  Golden  Age  —  alas,  that  hallowed  time 

Has  passed  away  as  some  melodious  dream. 

And  where  are  they?  ah,  let  the  fountains  tell 

Where  they  have  wandered  since  that  peaceful  age; 

Or  ask  the  winds,  or  hearken  to  the  shell 

That  murmurs  when  old  Nereus  calms  his  rage. 

Or  ask  thy  soul  and  know  the  mournful  truth, 
Sadly  she  perished  with  the  sin  of  man : 

A  lovely  flower  she  blossomed  in  her  youth 
To  fade  away  when  sorrow's  reign  began. 

'Tis  ever  thus  the  beautiful  is  marred  — 

Sorrow  from  joy;  trouble  from  gentle  sleep! 

Over  the  wide  sky,  bright  with  glory,  starred, 

The  ravening  clouds  rush  upward  from  the  deep. 


38 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 

What  star-eyed  Lily  ever  routed  Night, 

Or  stole  a  tick  of  time  from  Nature's  sheaf? 

What  valiant  Rosebud  ever  vanquished  Blight, 

Or  crushed  the  canker  from  its  crumpled  leaf?  — 

While  Orpheus  piped  upon  his  oaten  reeds 
Sweet  ditties  tuneful  birds  might  imitate, 

Eurydice,  providing  simple  needs, 

Hunted  wild  honey  and  fruits  delicate. 

Lo!  Aristseus,  hidden  in  the  brush, 

Beheld  her  beauty  as  she  chanced  to  pass, 

And,  rising  to  her  view,  with  brutal  rush 

Ran  lustful  after.     Through  the  yielding  grass 

She  fled  in  terror,  backward  to  the  place 

Where  Orpheus  waited  in  their  wonted  nook; 

Fear  urged  her  that  she  should  have  won  the  race, 
But,  hissing  in  her  path,  a  serpent  struck 

Deep  in  her  tender  heel  his  venomed  fangs.  — 
Alas,  first  victim  of  the  serpent's  rage, 

Martyr  of  Sin  and  sad  Death's  bitter  pangs, 
Her  beauty  weltered  with  the  Golden  Age. 

Since  then  the  sad  world  knoweth  not  her  reign, 
And  what  is  deemed  most  exquisite  is  marred; 

The  serpent's  trail  has  left  a  taint,  a  stain,  — 

And  all  the  face  of  earth  is  seared  and  scarred.  — 


39 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Far  through  the  night  to  Pluto's  gloomy  halls, 
Grim-shadowed,  labyrinthed  in  noxious  haze, 

Her  stricken  spirit  as  a  lily  falls, 

Deprived  of  Orpheus'  last  love-lingering  gaze. 

Wafted  by  Charon  over  Stygian  tide, 

Her  radiant  beauty  veiled  in  hideous  glooms, 

She,  lost  to  love  and  light  must  there  abide, 

A  tender  lamb  devoured  by  night- wolf  dooms. 

Far  from  the  hallowed  sphere  of  life  and  light, 

'\Yhere,  innocent,  she  roamed  flower-spangled  vales, 

Now  deeply  prisoned  in  unpiteous  night 

She  wanders  barrens  parched  with  torrid  gales. 

Alas,  while  her  sad  shadow  flits  below, 

Glad  Orpheus  pipeth  ditties  on  his  reeds, 

As  long  his  custom  when  his  love  would  go 
To  gather  dainties  for  their  daily  needs. 

But  when  the  hour  for  her  return  was  sped, 
And  he  beheld  the  sun's  declining  rays, 

Deprived  of  her  sweet  presence;  lo!  instead 
Of  her  dear  self  a  vision  in  a  haze, 

Obscure  and  ghastly,  gathered  in  that  bower; 

And  filled  with  horror  he  beheld  her  form,  — 
(Imaged  in  pale  mist  like  a  snow-white  flower) 

Languished  to  death  by  fangs  of  jealous  worm. 


40 


r  Ssrrrtrt  ifaStts/frrHi/  If*  fnf  syfji 
<7  <7 

.  /  f/tfr/frrra?  stfJrftrrl  ,(< 
(7 


ftmt&wr  <t&M 


'-  J&rtiy. 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 


Startled  from  musing  rhapsodies  he  rose 

To  seek  his  love  through  wilds  and  hidden  glens; 

But  still  that  vision  guides  him  as  he  goes, 
Fearful  in  haste,  through  labyrinthic  dens. 

Almost  the  moon  hath  flushed  the  silvered  east, 
Almost  the  sun  hath  burnished  the  gold  west, 

When  gathering  in  a  circle  that  gray  mist 
Hovers  above  his  lone  and  lovely  quest. 

And  when  he  views  that  child  of  beauty  spent, 
With  no  sweet  spirit  in  her  lifeless  clay, 

His  grief  confounding  him,  with  wild  lament 

He  halts  the  night  and  holds  the  flight  of  day :  — 

"Spread  wide  your  portals,  O  disastrous  Death! 

Immortal  I  am  coming  to  abide 
Forever  with  your  victims,  void  of  breath, 

Or  ravish  your  dominion  of  my  bride. 

"Give  up  your  denizens  of  midnight  woe, 
Immured  in  Misery's  discordant  wrong! 

From  light  eternal  to  the  gloom  below 

I  challenge  Discord  with  harmonic  song." 

Majestic  with  the  power  that  music  gives, 

His  challenge  rings  upon  the  gates  of  death; 

Swart  Death  a  moment  harbours  him  who  lives, 
Breathing  his  woe  to  those  who  have  not  breath.  - 


41 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

"O  Pluto,  Lord  of  Shadows  and  Lost  Souls! 

What  glory  is  it  for  these  wretched  wells, 
Deep  in  the  void  whence  Night  her  chariot  rolls, 

To  'mure  the  light  of  sweet  Arcadian  dells? 

"Is  this  the  dark  fate  virtue  may  expect, 

The  pure  destroyed  to  ease  the  spleen  of  Sin; 

What  final  good  can  evil  deed  effect; 

Must  virtue  lose  that  wickedness  may  win? 

"0  Pluto,  Lord  of  human  destiny, 

What  deed  of  lustful  sin  must  this  requite, 

To  blot  my  beautiful  Eurydice, 

Star  of  my  life,  in  this  opaquous  night? 

"Release  that  Child  of  Beauty,  O  grim  Death! 

Life,  light  and  love  should  never  gild  a  tomb; 
Her  place  is  where  the  pure  breeze  wandereth, 

Loving  the  rose  to  lovelier  blush  and  bloom. 

"Strong  in  the  frailty  of  harmonic  laws, 

I  come  to  quell  the  wrath  of  death  and  strife; 

My  love  release !  —  love's  pure  and  primal  cause, 
That  I  may  bear  her  to  the  land  of  life." 

So  sings  he  God-like  to  his  tuneful  lyre, 
While  stops  the  torture  of  Ixion's  wheel, 

While  Tantalus  forgets  tormenting  fire, 

And  the  fierce  Furies  piteous  languor  feel. 


42 


./)c/fff>f   ff'/Yft 


f/t 


tfrrfi 


10  f/te  .trftf  -iff  .Irfte.i; 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 

And  all  the  clangour  of  wide  Hades  hushed, 
The  sad-eyed  shadows  flutter  as  the  leaves 

When  wreathed  Spring,  with  tender  buds  new-flushed, 
In  floating  green  the  amorous  Wind  receives. 

And  in  an  ecstacy  of  quivering  sighs 

Dark  dungeons  tremble,  stricken  with  delight; 
The  rock-ribbed  pit  that  death  and  time  defies 

Glows  with  a  joy  too  luminous  for  night. 

The  deep  foundations  of  that  vale  of  woe 

Sway  to  the  rhythm  of  one  soul's  complaint; 

Grim  Pluto  shudders  lest  that  mortal  foe 
May  shatter  his  strict  portals  of  restraint. 

Hatred  destroyed  lies  vanquished  by  pure  love; 

Discord  disabled,  harmony  has  quelled; 
Pluto  in  panic,  dazzled  from  above, 

Seeks  to  restore  sweet  life,  obdurate  held. 

Wrung  from  his  might  that  Lord  of  Woe  replied, 
"Brief  is  the  boon  of  blessed  life  above, 

No  mortal  may  recross  the  Stygian  tide, 
But  this  I  grant  to  thee  and  to  thy  love; 

"Return  with  her  in  thy  protecting  arms, 
And  rise  together  to  the  sun-lit  skies; 

But  if  thy  glance  should  turn  to  view  her  charms, 
Again  to  death  she'll  vanish  from  thine  eyes." 


43 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Alas,  the  sentence  that  should  give  them  fear 
Fills  them  with  courage,  joy,  and  blessed  hope; 

Wreathing  in  ready  arms  that  burden  dear 
Orpheus  ascendeth  to  the  sun-lit  cope. 

While  they  are  rising  from  that  haunt  of  gloom, 
She  sighs  his  name  in  tones  of  former  days, 

W'hich  when  he  hears,  forgetting  her  sad  doom, 
He  turns  to  worship  her  with  lover's  gaze. 

Oh,  sad  conclusion  of  undaunted  quest, 

His  lovely  mate  restored  by  Pluto's  grant, 

Only  because  his  love  confused  his  breast 

Again  destroyed  that  shadow-realm  must  haunt. 

No  more  for  him  the  adamantine  gate 

Swings  inward  to  that  region  of  bleak  woe; 

No  more  for  her,  twice-dead  of  jealous  fate, 
That  silent  valve  gives  exit  from  below. 

Never  again  can  Orpheus  thread  the  gloom, 

And  wake  those  hollows  with  his  raptured  notes; 

To  wander  on  the  earth  is  now  his  doom, 

Love-lorn  in  valleys  where  the  ring-dove  dotes. 

The  wearied  centuries  have  withered  away 
The  essence  of  his  youth  and  left  him  old  — 

He  seems  a  shadow  in  the  noon  of  day, 

A  wraith  of  pale  mist  when  the  moon  is  cold. 


44 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 

Weary  of  heart  the  Golden  Age  he  mourns, 
In  winter  winds  attuned  to  minor  keys; 

And  when  the  gladdened  earth  warm  spring  adorns 
The  birds  rehearse  his  plaintive  melodies.  — 

And  who  is  he  whose  song  is  sad  and  sweet? 

And  who  is  he  that  sings  a  mournful  song? 
And  who  is  he  with  slow  but  viewless  feet, 

That  treads  the  swaying  asphodels  among? 

It  is  a  spirit  that  pervades  the  wild, 

The  singing  birds  that  gives  to  life  and  breath; 
The  King  of  Music,  weeping  that  sweet  child,  — 

Eurydice,  alas,  destroyed  by  death.  — 

A  plaintive  song  doth  he  to  Nature  tell; 

And  thou  mayst  hear  it  by  the  far  sea-shore; 
And  thou  mayst  hear  it  in  the  leafy  dell, 

By  wind  and  wave  repeated  o'er  and  o'er. 

For  every  gale  that  wafts  from  lonely  isle, 

Loves  to  repeat  the  sad  and  plaintive  notes; 

And  thou  mayst  hear  it,  if  thou  wilt,  the  while 
This  monody  upon  the  still  night  floats :  — 

"I'll  hang  my  harp  upon  the  willows  high, 

The  willows  in  a  silent  wilderness, 
Where  every  sweetest  breeze  that  sweepeth  by, 

May  touch  it  softly  with  a  fond  caress. 


45 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

"Where  every  careless  wind  from  grove  and  wild, 
May  wake  to  life  Love's  song,  seraphic,  lost 

When  my  love  died;  ah,  fair  and  lovely  child, 
Too  frail  to  live  in  vessel  tempest-tossed. 

"  How  fond  I  loved  her  when  the  earth  was  new ! 

Before  the  day  when  Slaughter  marked  his  own, 
W7hen  all  the  universe  was  pure  and  true, 

\Vhen  only  life  and  love  and  hope  were  known !  — 

"Alas,  a  discord  jangles  now  the  string, 

A  fatal  palsey  quavers  now  the  note; 
Fain  would  I  life  forego  and  mount  on  wing 

To  the  stars,  bland,  sweet-hymning  as  they  float." 


46 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 


THE  LAND   OF  LIGHT 

AL  ARAF  TO  ALICON. 

Seventy  stanzas  are  in  the  narrative;  and  there  is 
a  mystery  of  perfection  contained  in  the  number 
seventy,  it  being  ten  times  the  perfect  seven.  And 
the  seventy  stanzas  are  each  of  three  lines,  —  a  mys 
tical  cabala  that  emanates  from  the  throne  of  Allah; 
for,  always  will  the  Two  Prophets  stand  at  the  right 
and  left  of  the  One  Omnipotent,  —  three  wills  made 
manifest  in  one. 

Behold,  the  sacred  words  that  descended  from  the 
Seventh  Heaven,  as  gentle  as  the  dews  of  Mecca,  are 
the  history  of  a  certain  wise  and  mighty  Chaldean, 
who  crossed  over  the  dismal  abyss  of  unsaved  spirits, 
which  are  neither  condemned  to  the  perdition  of 
Gehenna  nor  saved  to  the  joys  of  Heaven.  —  Christians 
may  call  a  like  place  "Limbo,"  but  the  true  believer 
calleth  it  Al  Araf. 

And  before  that  Chaldean  Magian  crossed  over  the 
dark  chasm  on  the  glorious  Al-Sirat,  mysterious  bridge 
whose  span  is  as  a  sword's  edge,  and  over  which  our 
souls  must  pass  before  they  may  attain  the  abode  of 


49 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 


departed  spirits,  which  have  been  received  in  Islam; 
the  angel  Azrael,  the  frightful  cause  of  death,  dissolved 
the  Magian's  mortal  essence,  so  that  his  spirit  might 
move  in  a  radiant  region  of  the  stars  that,  like  a 
foot-stool  to  Allah  Akbar,  revolves  below  the  splendour 
of  Alicon. 

Doth  not  the  Holy  Scroll  aver;  from  Alicon,  which 
is  the  Seventh  Heaven  (whence  the  living  God  looks 
down  to  earth),  streams  more  golden  than  the  River 
Altan  Kol  proceed?  Al  Koran,  doth  it  not  declare, 
"Rivers  shall  run  at  their  feet." 

And  in  that  region  the  sacred  wandering  spirit,  of 
that  wise  and  rescued  Chaldean,  saw  tinted  lights,  in 
which  a  holy  Dervish  may  discover  hidden  meanings. 

O  sacred  words!    and  they  were  chaunted  by  the 
Blessed  Angel,  Israfil  —  whose  heart  is  like  the  lute  — 
and,  with  many  others,  beautiful,  are  woven  in  a  song 
of  truth  and  hope  and  light. 


50 


THE  LAND   OF  LIGHT 

Over  a  wide  and  sullen  stream, 
Like  the  weird  fancy  of  a  dream, 
Behold  Al-Sirat's  radiant  gleam : 

Al-Sirat,  bridge  of  brightest  glow, 

Rising  above  the  turbid  flow 

Of  that  mysterious  stream  below. 

Curved  as  a  jewelled  scimitar, 

Bright  as  the  shaft  of  Isfendiar, 

Its  light  pierced  through  the  distance  far. 

I  blest  its  genial  beauty  there, 

For  the  bleak  night  was  dark;  and  where 

I  stood  was  cold,  and  chill  the  air; 

And  vapours  hovered  on  the  tide, 
And  the  dark  current  spread  so  wide 
That  none  might  see  the  other  side. 

But  I  conceived  vales  of  delight, 
Spreading  beyond  the  gloomy  night, 
Led  from  that  glowing  rainbow  bright. 


51 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

And,  in  that  phantasy  of  thought, 
Hope  a  delusive  splendour  wrought, 
And  momentary  comfort  brought. 

But  I  was  on  a  treacherous  ooze, 
Al  Araf 's  margin,  dank  with  dews, — 
A  sadder  place  heart  could  not  choose. 

The  bridge,  though  beautiful,  seemed  frail, 
And  I  was  sure  its  arch  would  fail 
To  bear  me  from  that  dismal  vale. 

No  shallop  light  to  save  was  there, 
Nor  any  craft,  with  white  sails  fair, 
To  stem  the  tide  on  wings  of  air. 

Fantastic  phantoms  would  appear, 
Which,  though  intangible,  seemed  near, 
And  filled  me  with  a  nameless  fear: 

Fear  of  disaster,  a  strange  dread 
That  I  might  join  the  formless  dead, 
And  haunt  the  void  that  round  me  spread. 

Fearing  such  deep  and  desolate 
Abyss  as  my  unhallowed  fate, 
Backward  I  turned  disconsolate. 


52 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 

Thus,  turning,  I  beheld  on  high 
A  pale  white  phantom  in  the  sky, 
That  like  a  cloud  sailed  silently. 

This  way  and  that  it  sailed  and  whirled, 
But  never  a  filmy  edge  unfurled, 
Nor  was  it  lustrous,  dew  impearled. 

It  ever  seemed  a  cloud,  although 
It  left  the  sky  with  motion  slow 
Until  it  touched  the  vale  below : 

A  phantom  of  unearthly  white, 
A  nebula  of  rayless  light, 
Formless  and  blending  in  the  night. 

The  frost  of  Azrael  was  beneath 
Its  silent  wing,  and  its  sharp  breath 
Was  the  black  frost  of  utter  death. 

My  very  veins  with  ice  were  filled, 
The  well-spring  of  my  life  was  chilled, 
The  beating  of  my  heart  was  stilled 

As  doomed  eternal,  flesh  and  soul;  — 
Congealed  as  streams  that  never  roll 
From  ice-chains  of  the  nether  Pole: 


53 


THE  BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Not  dead  and  not  alive,  I  seemed 
A  statue  in  a  nightmare  dreamed, 
A  haunted  void  —  fronting  where  gleamed 

An  arch  of  hope,  resplendent  thrown 

From  sad  Al  Araf  (antres  lone) 

To  dim  shores  of  the  vast  unknown.  — 

So  light  spreads  forth  from  the  black  sky; 
So  life  is  born  from  those  that  die; 
And  so  from  utmost  alchemy 

I  felt  anew  sweet  life  pervade; 

And  the  dark  past  began  to  fade  — 

(But  still  that  arch  and  sad  stream  staid). - 

Lightly  I  moved,  as  in  a  dream, 
Across  that  wide  and  gloomy  stream, 
Over  that  bridge  of  rainbow-gleam; 

And  soon  upon  the  center  stood 

Of  that  great  arch;  and  lo,  the  flood 

Rolled  red  and  sanguine  —  red  as  blood. 

The  light  that  made  the  bridge  so  sheen 
Flashed  on  the  river's  depth,  obscene, 
Fantastic  flames  of  gold  and  green; 


54 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 

And  those  strange  lights,  that  mixed  and  blent, 
All  flashing  a  wild  splendour  lent 
The  sanguine  tide  which  onward  went. 

And  I  observed  its  winding  chasm 
Flowed  fast  with  many  a  weird  phantasm, 
Writhing  in  pain  and  tortuous  spasm. 

Like  seething  waves  the  sad  shapes  heaved; 

Alas,  it  was,  as  I  believed, 

A  stream  of  bodies  interweaved. 

But  oh,  to  see  that  lovely  light, 

From  the  high  arch,  gleam  far  and  bright, 

On  upturned  faces  woful  white! 

And  far  away  their  tremulous  sighs 
Like  mist  above  the  wraves  would  rise, 
Slow-wafting  to  the  leaden  skies. 

And  from  the  deep  waves  many  a  groan, 
Like  sorrowing  ghost  from  mortal  flown, 
Took  shape  and  floated,  sad  and  lone. 

What  wonder  that  I  swiftly  sped 
Over  that  bridge  —  a  rainbow  spread 
Across  that  River  of  the  Dead  — 


55 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

Whilst  all  those  ghostly  sights,  that  made 
My  blood  to  chill,  no  longer  staid 
But  in  the  distance  soft  did  fade. 

Thus,  having  left  the  Vale  Despair, 

With  glad  surprise,  a  region  fair 

I  viewed  with  rapture.     Wheresoe'er 

My  wildered  steps  were  turned,  it  seemed 

That  I  was  in  a  region  dreamed 

With  phantasies  that  round  me  streamed; 

And  all  the  woful  sights  that  made 
My  blood  so  chill,  and  even  staid 
My  pulse-beat,  far  away  did  fade: 

For  I  had  left  the  dismal  tide, 
And  now  was  in  a  region  wide 
And  radiant  —  where  wonders  vied 

With  every  beauty  to  display 
Sights  more  delightful.     And  alway 
The  breezes  whispered,  as  in  May. 

And  where  I  wandered  in  that  land 
A  river  followed ;  and  its  strand 
Was  beautiful,  of  lucent  sand, 


56 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 

As  the  bright  waves  of  Altan  Kol, 
That  over  Asian  ledges  roll, 
Speckled  with  gold  from  sandy  shoal; 

Glancing  through  meadow,  field  and  wold, 
Argentine,  lined  with  yellow  gold, 
Edged  with  green  banks  and  forests  old. 

And  there  were  places  where  the  trees, 
Close  by  the  brink,  caught  every  breeze, 
Or  lapped  the  wave  their  thirst  to  appease; 

And  blue  as  Persian  skies  in  May, 
^Yhen  rain  has  left  a  cloudless  day, 
Exotic  champaks  starred  the  way; 

And  everywhere  the  Sakhrat-sheen, 
From  skies  to  waters  hyaline, 
Dissolved  in  beauty  o'er  the  scene. 

Oh,  it  was  beautiful  to  look 

Upon  —  with  many  a  shaded  nook, 

Where  all  around  sweet  light-beams  strook. 

Xight  came  not  there  with  deadly  hush, 
Nor  chilling  frost,  nor  loud  wind's  rush 
The  tender  buds  to  beat  and  crush; 


57 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

For  there  were  two  bright  suns  that  shone 

Together,  and  were  never  lone; 

And  the  bleak  night  was  all  unknown. 

One  sun  was  purest  blue  and  ne'er 
Beamed  in  mid-sky,  but  circled  where 
The  far  tree-tops  dissolved  in  air: 

The  other  sailed  with  wondrous  motion, 
Backwards  and  forth  across  the  ocean 
Of  lambent  air,  that  no  commotion 

Or  tempest  ever  tossed.  Pure  white 
It  shone,  with  large  and  steady  light, 
In  skies  that  knew  nor  storm  nor  night. 

And  when  their  beams  did  intersect, 

The  lovely  meads,  so  sweet  bedecked, 

With  strangest  lights  and  shades  were  checked. 

Shadows  that  swerved  from  side  to  side, 
To  follow  those  twin  suns,  did  glide 
With  motion  slow  across  the  wide 

Translucent  and  deep-glowing  sky  — 
And  aye  the  shadows,  silently 
As  winged  Tacwins,  flitted  by. 


58 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 

The  trees  seemed  ever  budding  with 
New  life,  and  every  field  and  heath 
Was  glowing  in  life's  generous  breath. 

To  breathe  the  air  gave  hope  and  joy; 

And  there  was  nothing  to  annoy 

Or  grieve  the  heart,  and  naught  to  cloy. 

And  I  could  see  no  yellow  leaves, 

Nor  branches  bare,  nor  withered  sheaves, 

Nor  sign  of  death  that  earth  bereaves : 

It  was  so  different  from  aught 

Of  earth,  or  anything  that  thought 

Could  picture,  or  that  dreams  have  wrought. 

The  concave  golden  sky  was  spread 
With  stars  and  meteors  that  shed 
Soft  beams  of  white  and  blue  o'erhead. 

These  lights  were  wonderful  and  fair, 
Most  pleasant  to  the  eye,  and  ne'er 
Beamed  like  the  noonday's  blinding  glare. 

As  lovely  spirits  in  the  sky, 

Or  splendid  birds,  they  seemed  to  fly 

Across  the  glowing  dome  on  high. 


59 


THE   BEGGAR'S  VISION 

And  every  star  sent  forth  a  clear 
And  perfect  note,  which  to  the  ear 
Was  rapturous  as  a  ringing  sphere; 

Or  like  the  blessed  angel's  voice, 
Bidding  the  heavenly  choirs  rejoice 
In  Him  who  is  their  love  and  choice,  — 

The  blessed  angel,  Israfil, 

On  Alicon's  engolden'd  hill, 

Heard  by  the  saints  when  night  is  still  — 

Ten  thousand,  thousand  joyous  notes, 
Sweet  as  when  through  the  forest  floats 
The  silvery  joys  of  feathered  throats. 

And  those  two  suns,  one  blue,  one  white, 
Seemed  monarchs  of  that  land  of  light, 
For  all  the  stars  paled  in  their  might; 

And  even  I,  in  that  sweet  hour, 
Acknowledged  their  most  gentle  power, 
As  did  the  blue  and  white  star-shower. 

And  here  am  I,  where  Truth  and  Hope, 
Benignant,  beam  from  starry  cope, 
In  knowledge  sure  Death's  portals  ope 


60 


THE  LAND  OF  LIGHT 

To  larger  life,  and  not  to  sleep, 
Amid  world-stars  that  vigils  keep 
O'er  sorrowing  men  who  toil  and  weep. 


61 


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